Outcasts they tend to call us,
The wierd ones,
The freaks.
But we like to think of ourselves as the special ones
With our permanent-marker doodles on our converses
Ripped jeans and emo hearts and suicidal poems written in the snow
Novels read beneath the covers 'til dawn by light of a flashlight
[batteries nearly dead we've used it so many times before]
And dancing in the rain
Praying to Beethoven
And tears at dusk
And singing to the stars
At the top of our lungs with the car windows open and the night rushing in
Or on the top floor of a beach house with the sea stretched out before us
"Go home, you lose, good day, sir"
Turn around and say good bye
Gum-wrapper bracelets and crying to the moon
Glasses and braces and beautiful eyes
Sad behind the smiles
And sitting in the corner to escape the staring eyes
But we live for funny looks because they remind us that we are special
Man, we are special.
We aren't the outcasts, for we know how to live.
For we know what to do with ourselves
On a rainy sunday afternoon.
